The café was closed on Monday, so I had two full days to myself and a nice pile of cash to look at, thanks to my tips the day before and the partial check I'd received from Alana, since the staff was paid on Saturdays. The tips had been better than I'd hoped for, as we'd been busy all day. All of a sudden I felt very wealthy. I sent off a Western Union check to my mother, picked up a few groceries, and made plans to put the rest in my bank account.
Vivian had warned me that the tips weren't always that generous. Maybe the customers had felt sorry for us, thinking one of us might be wearing orange soon. Despite the eager questions and interest, I had not seen one customer shed a tear over my boss's death. And some of them had known him for years.
My mind was now preoccupied with the audition that night. In order to keep busy and not let the nerves take over, I spent most of the day cleaning the apartment. I reminded myself I was not doing this to please Brad. Neat by nature, I had no desire to live in a pigsty.
Brad had texted the night before to say he was going to a party at a friend's house and wouldn't be home. He worked Sundays at the resort, so he mentioned that he'd see me later in the evening and then we would "catch up." That usually meant he'd come home with romance on his mind.
I was ready at six when Tad knocked on the door. He had on a pair of tan shorts, a purple polo shirt, and matching flip-flops. He looked at me in my white skirt and red silk blouse and frowned.
"Love, you look like you're going to a job interview instead of an audition."
I cursed under my breath. "I knew I was overdressed. But I really want to make a good impression. Is it that bad?"
Tad glanced around the room. "Where's your closet?"
I led the way to the bedroom, and he thumbed his way quickly through my sparse wardrobe. "Keep the skirt. You've got cute legs. But wear these flat sandals and swap the blouse out for this yellow tank top. It looks good with your dusky complexion."
I wrinkled my nose. "It's a Mediterranean skin tone."
"Whatever. I prefer the term dusky. Yellow is a great color for you."
I had to admit this was better than what I'd originally picked out. I ran into the bathroom to change and then met him outside by his white convertible.
I studied him curiously. "How do you know so much about fashion?"
Tad moved his Gucci sunglasses from the top of his head and settled them in front of his eyes as he started the engine. "I live for fashion, girl. I'm originally a New York City boy. I even graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology."
That actually explained a lot. He seemed more like a big-city guy to me, although I had no doubt he would manage to fit in anywhere. "Hey, that makes us practically neighbors!"
Tad fist-bumped me, eyes still pinned on the road. "I actually majored in jewelry design. I created some pieces for my cousin's bridal party. After I met her wedding planner and consulted with her a few times, I decided that was what I really wanted to do." He stopped for a red light and when I didn't respond, glanced over at me with curiosity. "What, did you think only women can be wedding planners?"
"I wasn't thinking that at all. I love David Tutera and My Fair Wedding. I can picture you arranging some five-hundred person affair at the Aloha Lagoon Resort someday."
He sniffed. "Word, girlfriend. And you can bet it would be like no other wedding that place has ever seen. But I'm in no hurry. I like working at the linen store. The customers are great to deal with—well, all besides your former boss, that is. Plus I get to cruise around town in gorgeous weather for most of the day."
"In a nice sports car too," I teased.
"Darn straight. The store's been in the family for over thirty years. Great Uncle Jack ran it before Uncle Mickey took over. I was sick of the city and needed a change, like a tropical one, so I begged him for the chance. Plus, some of his biggest clients are hotels and resorts, like the Aloha Lagoon. And what happens at hotels? Hello, weddings!" He launched into a chorus of "I Love to Cry at Weddings" from Sweet Charity. "That's from one of my favorite musicals."
I laughed. "I know the show well. You're a wonder."
"Hmm, I am, love. I truly am." Tad checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. "So, any leads on who did away with the big kahuna?"
I shrugged. "No idea. It's not like the cops are sharing details with us. We're all considered suspects. Even me because I found him!"
His tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth. "Shut up. You poor love. How could they think that? You just started there!"
"Yes, but for all the police know, I could have committed the crime and then pretended to find him."
"I did see that happen on a crime show once," Tad mused.
"Plus the murder weapon is missing."
I hadn't realized I'd spoken the words out loud, then immediately wanted to pinch myself. "I probably shouldn't have told you that. Please don't say anything to Detective Ray."
Tad stopped for another light, and his jaw dropped so far I thought it might hit the floor of the car. "If that turns up in someone's possession, they'll get arrested for sure. Face it, darling. Everyone at the Loco Moco disliked the guy, and I'm sure there were others too. Maybe people who worked at the resort that he wronged, customers—heck, there could even be a business connection to his shopping mall. From what I heard he outed tenants left and right from there with little warning. The guy wasn't exactly a fan favorite."
We pulled into a small paved parking lot behind a light blue stucco building and got out of the car as I recalled the customer from yesterday. "There was a woman who came into the café and said something about Hale and what an awful thing he did to a girl years ago. She left before I could get any more information out of her. Do you have any idea what she meant?"
Tad wrinkled his nose. "Well, I can't be positive she's referring to the same incident, but my uncle did mention that Hale was once involved in a horrible car accident. Seems the car he was driving hit another one for no specific reason. His parents and a woman in the other car were all killed. Hale was the only survivor."
"Oh right. I googled him on Brad's laptop the other night and saw that. When did it happen again?"
Tad tapped the pen he was carrying against his chin. "Twenty years ago? I can't be sure. Now, to be fair, even though the man was a jerk, he must have carried a load of guilt around since that day. I believe my uncle said it wasn't alcohol related either. Maybe he lost control of the vehicle. His parents were wealthy, respected people and well liked—the total opposite of him."
If Hale had been carrying around guilt from that horrible accident, he certainly kept it well hidden. In the brief amount of time I'd known him, I hadn't seen him perform a nice gesture or say a kind word to anyone. "What about the woman in the other car?"
Tad opened the door for me. "No idea. You could probably track down some old newspaper records through the local library if you're that interested. Maybe even dig up some more dirt on the kahuna while you're at it. He had a lifetime of pissing people off on a daily basis, honey."
We entered the theater, which was blue on the inside of the building as well. The floors were polished concrete, the walls a teak color, and the padded plush seats a shade of navy.
"Maybe Blue Hawaii would have been a better name for the theater," I joked.
"Already taken. Haven't you seen the Blue Hawaii Wedding Chapel yet?" Tad asked. "It's right in Aloha Lagoon. Fabulous place, darling."
I scanned the rows and rapidly calculated in my head that the theater must hold about 300 people. A man wrote down our names and handed us sides, which were a portion of the script. He also gave us forms to fill out so that we could list our experience.
There were about fifty people seated in the various rows. We settled ourselves in the second to last row, and Tad leaned over. "There're two nights of auditions, so before you get too excited, double this crowd."
I thought back to the book. "There are about what—ten parts in all?"
Tad started counting on his fingers.
"Marmee, Jo, Amy, Beth, Meg, Laurie—that's the role I want—God, I could totally rock that part—Father, John Brooke, Aunt March—" He paused. "Then again, it would be fun to play her too." He smiled like a Cheshire cat. "What part are you trying for?"
"Jo, of course."
He studied me for a second. "You seem more like the Meg or Beth type to me. But in the long run, it will all come down to your singing skills."
Great. That was what I'd been afraid of.
"Attention, everyone." A tall, powerfully built man, with dark hair in a buzz cut, greeted us. "I'm Jeff Temple, director of Little Women, The Musical. Thanks for coming out tonight. We'll be calling you up one by one, or in some cases in twos, for acting scenes. You can hand your sheet to me or my assistant director, Ben, on your way to the stage."
Ben, the man we had seen at the door, was now in the front row. Still seated, he turned around to wave at us.
Jeff went on. "If you have a certain musical number you'd prefer to do, please inform our pianist. Otherwise we'll ask you to sing a tune from the show. I'm trusting you're all somewhat familiar with the book, a version of the movie, or the musical itself. Well, if you want a part, that is."
Everyone laughed.
"Our performances are usually only six shows, two weekends in a row, but this one will have an extra week added on, either at the beginning or the end," Jeff continued. "I'll know for certain within the next couple of weeks."
An appreciative murmur ran through the crowd, and people started whispering in hushed tones.
"What's going on?" I asked Tad.
He leaned closer to me and spoke quietly. "I can't confirm, but rumor has it that a good friend of Jeff's is also a director in Hollywood. He'll be vacationing here in the next couple of months, and as a favor to Jeff, he's coming to see the show. There's always the chance he's on the lookout for a fresh new face too."
Oh man. It was settled then. I had to have a part in this show and would do just about anything short of pole dancing to get one.
Tad and I watched the auditions for about forty-five minutes until Jeff suddenly turned and pointed at me. "Next."
"Go get em', girl," Tad whispered.
Jeff nodded at Tad. "You too."
We made our way down the aisle and handed our forms to Ben, who was seated on the aisle and already had his hand outstretched to receive them. We climbed onto the stage and waited for further instruction.
"Carrie and Tad," Ben read from our papers. "You're going to be Jo and Laurie."
Tad pumped his fist. "Yes!" Then his cheeks colored. "Sorry."
Ben and Jeff both smiled at this.
"Okay," Ben said. "Whenever you two are ready. Start with the scene on page 155."
I had an idea which scene this might be, and my suspicions were quickly confirmed when I found the page. It was the one where Laurie confides his love to Jo and she refuses him. Okay, a tad bit uncomfortable—slight pun there—but I was actually more afraid I might burst into laughter. I barely knew this guy, but on the plus side, at least he wasn't a total stranger.
Tad gripped me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes, fully lost in the role. It took great effort on my part to hold the giggles back.
Tad stroked my hair with his left hand. "Really, Jo?"
As the script indicated, I reached my hand up to his cheek. "Really and truly, Teddy."
Tad huffed, turned, and stomped angrily to the rear of the stage.
"Teddy, where are you going?" I cried.
"To the devil!" At that moment Tad tripped over a fan cord with his flip-flops and went flying across the stage.
Everyone else burst into laughter and then applauded.
"Well, that's definitely one way to get our attention." Jeff crooked his finger at Tad. "Come on down here while Carrie sings for us. You'll go next. Carrie, if you have a preference, let Martha know."
Tad's face was beet red, and I was genuinely sorry for him because I knew what it was like to be embarrassed like that. During an audition back home, I'd accidentally elbowed the director in the face when he'd been reading a scene with me. Needless to say, he'd wound up with a black eye, and I didn't get the part.
I walked over to the little, white-haired old lady who was poised in front of the piano by stage left. She flashed me a reassuring smile, but I wasn't nervous. Singing gave me a certain freedom like nothing else ever could. For that matter, being on stage—in any capacity—was similar to wearing comfortable shoes for me. Growing up, I'd felt more at home there instead of my actual house.
"Could you play 'Better'?" It was a song that Jo March sang when she found herself conflicted about life and love.
Martha nodded happily and handed me the lyrics for the song, which I gratefully accepted. I knew them, thanks in part to some more googling the night before, but figured it would be a good idea to follow along, in case I forgot some of the words. I'd practiced earlier on my own, but there had been no one around to tell me how I sounded, with the exception of the tenant across the hall who'd asked what was wrong with my cat. Embarrassed, I didn't have the nerve to say I didn't own one.
When Martha started to play, I looked directly out into the audience. A trick I had learned years ago was to find an object to focus on, not a face. A light switch on the back wall worked well for this purpose. I then concentrated on the emotions Jo would be feeling at that particular moment. In truth, the song was kind of an ironic fit for me, not that I would ever admit it to anyone. Funny how art imitates life sometimes.
There was polite clapping when I finished, and Jeff scribbled something down on the paper in front of him then nodded to me. "Thank you, Carrie. That's all."
Flustered and annoyed with myself, I returned to my seat. I knew I'd been off-key. Maybe I should forget the whole crazy idea of ever becoming a performer. As much as I loved to sing, it was becoming apparent I possessed no talent for it. Sure, I knew long ago that I was never going to be a Celine Dion or Barbara Streisand, but I sincerely loved performing and the head rush I experienced from it.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that it took a moment to realize Tad was almost finished with his rendition of "Take a Chance on Me." He actually sang pretty decently, in a rich baritone voice that surprised me. However, the gestures he made and the extra drama he had inserted during our scene together didn't convince me personally that he was the Laurie type. Laurie—or Theodore Lawrence—was the rich, handsome male lead, a big brother model to the poor March girls and also hopelessly in love with the tomboy sister, Jo.
Still, maybe all was not lost. If given the opportunity, I thought Tad could have portrayed an excellent Amy March—the littlest sister who was not only spoiled but liked to whine about the injustices of the world. He even looked a little like her.
Tad slumped in his seat next to me, still red faced as he gulped a long sip from his water bottle. "Dang. I can't believe I was so clumsy up there. I have to stop wearing these flip-flops. But they are so comfortable." He examined his foot with admiration. "I do need a pedicure though."
"You sounded good," I said.
"I have a confession to make," Tad admitted. "Before I read the lyrics up there, I thought the song 'Take a Chance on Me' was Abba's." He groaned in frustration then settled back in the seat. "I could have done so much better."
I squeezed his hand reassuringly and waited for him to say something about my performance. He continued to sit there, watching the rest of the auditions, until I couldn't stand it anymore. "How did I sound?"
Tad still stared straight ahead, his movement not doing anything to encourage my confidence. "Your acting is divine, hon. Great facial expressions up there."
"Thanks," I said. "But what about the song? I didn't have much time to practice beforehand. How did I sound?"
Tad blew out a breath and turned to face me. "Darling, I adore you—really I do. I think your acting skills are superb."
"But?" I prodded.
He cleared his throat. "Okay, let me ask you this…how do yo
u think you did?"
I sighed. "I was afraid of that."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tad and I stopped for a quick coffee on the way home, and when he dropped me off at the apartment, I noticed that it was after ten o'clock. I was tired and decided to snuggle into bed to watch some television before I fell asleep.
I figured Brad might not come home again, but it was obvious he had stopped by the apartment while I'd been at the audition. There were dishes in the sink, and his wet towel and dirty clothes were all over the bedroom floor. I started to pick the towel up and then stopped myself, throwing it back down. No. I wasn't doing that again.
My cell phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen. The number was familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Hello?"
"Hi, Carrie, it's Keanu. How are you?"
A warm tingle spread through me, and I wasn't sure why. "I'm fine. How about you?"
"Never better." There was silence for a moment. "How did your audition go tonight?"
I hesitated. "Not very well, I'm afraid. But it's always fun for me to perform."
"I didn't get a chance to tell you, but you did a nice job last night with your Aretha Franklin number."
I almost burst out laughing. Even I knew that had not gone well. "You're such a liar."
He chuckled, a deep throaty one that was addicting to my ears. "I know the Loco Moco is closed tomorrow, but Alana asked me if I would call one of the servers to come in and spend a couple of hours doing some extra cleaning around the place. Things like dusting, waxing the floor, polishing table legs, etc. She wanted me to pick one person, and to tell the truth, I thought you might really need the money."
"You'd be correct. But if I'm the only one working, how will I get in? Will she be there?" I prayed the answer was no.
Death of the Big Kahuna Page 10
